Give Me Wings
by oldpaul
Summary: There's always more to the sarcastic butler than meets the eye, and Niles struggles to maintain a sense of normalcy in the madhouse that is the Sheffield mansion in a world that doesn't agree with who he is.
1. Chapter 1

**Give Me Wings - Ch. 1**

**Hey all, this is my first fic for y'all in the Nanny fandom. Been a fan for years and years but I've always been too shy to do much more than lurk. I'd like to thank EspoirDio, Negschainsaw, Kate811, Lilliewildelangtry, and aFineMess5 for being so lovely and welcoming me to the fandom on tumblr once I finally got my butt around to speaking up c:**

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5:30 AM — Sheffield mansion, 1993

Swatting at his alarm clock in irritation, Niles rolled over, reluctant to leave the warmth of his bed. _Surely Maxwell could start his day two hours later, _he grumbled to himself, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Scrubbing at his eyes, he made his way into his adjoining bathroom to wash his hair.

As he went through his morning bathroom routine he took a while to study himself in the mirror — it'd nearly cost him a timely breakfast quite often. He liked to look at himself. But he was a butler, he was forty-eight years old, and he couldn't find it in him to care so much, anymore. The face that stared back impassively at him was weather-worn and lined, but his eyes still held a mischievous twinkle that showed through to the young man at heart.

He pulled a few faces at himself in the mirror, grinned roguishly and set about the first of his twice-daily preening sessions. Perhaps to others it'd be as irritating of a task as spending time doing makeup, but for Niles it was relaxing — it was time dedicated to himself, running his hands over each of his feathers with the utmost care, so that they folded neatly against each other and looked crisp and clean — not that anyone was going to see them aside from himself. And yet somehow to him it didn't matter; every morning he awoke with plenty of time to make sure he got it done.

Pulling the last few feathers through his hands, he left the sink in search of his outfit for the day. As he slipped into his pants and searched for his belt, his thoughts wandered to the day ahead — he smiled to himself for it promised to be, as was quickly becoming the norm, full of surprises and excitement.

The advent of one Francine Fine's arrival at the Sheffield household brought a breath of fresh air to the family that was still reeling from the loss of their beloved Sara. It had been months since he had seen a smile grace any of the children's faces, months since Maxwell had done anything productive, months since CC had lifted her nose from stacks and stacks of paperwork. The entirety of running the household had fallen to him, yet no one had thought to ask him how he was faring, if he was alright, if he needed any help. It was expected of him as the butler to be able to handle his job and handle it well — without complaint, and without a problem. The appearance of Fran on the doorstep had wrought a turnabout in the family that Niles had been hoping to see for ages.

After Sara's death, Niles had found solace in one thing — pissing off CC Babcock, Maxwell's stately, graceful, and downright vicious business partner and associate. It was hard to reach her, though, with the walls that she reinforced tenfold after her friend's passing. If CC had been cold and calculating before Sara left them, she had quite literally frozen over afterwards. All of her interactions were more insincere and antagonistic than Niles could ever remember them being — though, he mused to himself with a small smile, she didn't really have to stoop any lower to reach that point. _No one will melt the ice queen now, _he thought. Not that he wouldn't stop trying — it gave him something to do, and Lord knows he needed a hobby apart from Windexing the office windows.

The creaking of the bedroom door behind him snapped Niles out of his thoughts and he whirled around, his hands coming up to his chest in an attempt to hide the rest of his shirtless upper body. He held his breath in hopes that maybe it was just… the wind, or something, the house being old, anything… but his hopes be damned. Six-year-old Grace Sheffield poked her head around the door frame, her eyes widening with curiosity as they took in the sight of Niles, standing nervously in the middle of his room. Gracie gasped as she realized what she was seeing, and she slipped inside of the bedroom completely, shutting the door behind her.

"You shouldn't be in here, Miss Grace," Niles stated, his gaze uncomfortable and fixed on the floor. He could feel her young gaze fixed on him, could feel the questions that she was asking without even having to say anything to him. He looked up at her, raising his eyebrow when she didn't answer him. "It isn't polite to stare, Miss Grace," he added on, his look of discomfort transitioning to one more stern and meaningful.

Grace nodded, and her big brown eyes fixed on Niles' inquisitively. "I wanted to know if you would bake cookies with me later," she said matter-of-factly, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Niles nodded, waiting for the inevitable…

"But you have wings!" She exclaimed, stepping over to him and running a hand over the edge of his right hand flight feather. Niles didn't move. "You're an angel, Niles!"

Surprisingly, he noted, her voice was not filled with contempt or disgust, but rather the excitement that he had missed from her voice (all of the children's voices, really) for so long. He crouched down so that he was at her head level, a small smile playing about his lips.

"I am, but you mustn't tell anyone, Miss Grace," Niles whispered, taking on a tone of mock secrecy — though in reality, he was being dead serious.

"Why not?" She questioned him, and he could envision her running off to tell Brighton and Maggie, who would let it slip to Fran, who would tell CC — he shuddered. The outside world was not a good place for 'angels' like him, as it were, which was the truth of the matter; they were perhaps one of the smallest minority groups, and by the general public's eye, they were freaks of nature — impure, unclean, and regarded as mutts. Kicked down on, spit on, and degraded, he knew only too well what would happen were the rest of the family to find out (especially Fran: a Fine woman, he had learned rather quickly, could only keep something to herself for a very, very short amount of time before she burst and deigned it necessary to inform everyone of her thoughts).

"It's not safe for me," was all he imparted to little Grace, "and you mustn't say a word."

She nodded solemnly, and he knew that he could trust her — for she took everything she heard to heart, and she treated things with the utmost seriousness. Unlike the other girls her age, the young Miss Grace was not prone to gossip, but rather to burying her nose in a book — a book about psychotherapy, if he had to chance a guess, and to applying what she read to miniature therapy sessions with her dolls.

"Can you spread them out?" Gracie questioned, and he smiled fondly, turning his back to her as he obliged. They were clipped, the flight feathers shorn off nearly all the way, though when fully grown out they must take up the width of Niles' bedroom. He looked over his shoulder at the little girl, who was standing with a huge grin on her face. She reached a hand out to him again and ran her fingers over the large feathers that made up his wings. The feathers began between his shoulder blades as normal feathers, a dark reddish-orange hue that covered his entire back, down to his waist. His marginal coverts were the same red-orange while his primary and secondary covert feathers were red-orange black. The primary flight feathers were halved in black and white down the shaft — the secondaries were a solid black, and the feathers were bigger than her both of her hands put together, Gracie noted in awe. A splash of vibrant blue was visible at Niles' alula, the feathers of which were barred thinly with black and white and contrasted heavily with the ruddy red-orange of his mantle. The feathers were soft to the touch, softer than any of the blankets Gracie had on her bed and she smiled as Niles folded his wings back under his arms and wrapped them flat around his torso, pulling on an undershirt.

"Let me finish dressing and we will go downstairs to prepare breakfast together," Niles told her, shifting the subject from him as he slipped into and buttoned up a shirt. "Will you pick out a tie for me?"

Gracie nodded. "I will if we can make cookies, too, Niles." And at his nod she peered into his closet, handing a tie over her shoulder to him.

With his vest and jacket following suit, Niles made sure to double check with his young charge that he looked presentable, and with her approval he took her hand, making their way downstairs to begin another day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi, guys. Thank you so much for the kind words regarding the first chapter, I must admit I felt pretty scared posting it. Good to know that people are looking forward to seeing more :D **

**I'd like to point you in the direction of this - oldpaul dot tumblr dot com /****post/110009657728/ -**** which is a visual I drew for Niles' wings, how they work under his clothes, etc. as I know it might be kind of like, 'well how would this work?' and it's hard for me to put some things into words in a sensible manner. So take a peek if you wish (I'm gathering that you're not supposed to link to outside sources - but this is important to the story). **

**Enjoy.**

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Chapter 2

"I'm not a _real _angel, Miss Grace," Niles explained as he helped her stir chocolate chips into their batter later that morning. "I'm a normal person, just like you."

"But you look like the angels in all of my old picture books," Gracie argued back, jutting her bottom lip out. Niles handed her the spoon to lick and considered her logic.

"I don't have white wings," he finally answered, "and I do everything exactly the way you do."

Gracie nodded, appeased, and handed the now-clean spoon back to Niles. She watched over the island from her 'stool' — a chair that had been dragged over from the kitchen table — as Niles quickly and deftly spooned the dough onto a metal baking tray. The way that he bound his wings made it impossible to tell that he even had them. She had studied him all throughout breakfast earlier that morning, but she couldn't tell that they were there. They added some weight to his figure, but otherwise, there was no indication that he wasn't completely normal.

"Grown-ups don't like people with wings," Gracie remembered suddenly, voicing her thought aloud. Niles moved from his place in front of the oven to stand across the island from her, and placed his hands on hers.

"No they don't, Miss Grace, and they will try to tell you that people like me aren't worth any part of this world. But we cannot help how we are born. Nobody can help who they are. Everybody deserves a chance, and we should not look down on those who are different from us."

He squeezed her small hands, pushed away from the island, picked up the silver serving tray with the morning's tea on it, and left the kitchen to serve his boss.

* * *

CC Babcock's morning had not gone well. She'd woken with a sore back, arrived late to work, listened to Maxwell as he'd waffled about this contract and that backer and why he couldn't do this and couldn't she do it seeing as she was so much better at it, anyway, and she was sick of listening to him make excuses. So she was, for once, glad when Niles knocked and entered the office with their tea.

"There's no alcohol in this," Niles warned her as he handed her the mug, and she glared up at him.

"Just do your job and leave," she snapped, snatching the tea away from him and returning to her paperwork with no further acknowledgement that he was there. Bemused, Niles set to work on dusting objects around the office, keeping a discrete, watchful eye on the producers as he did so.

"This will never work, Maxwell," CC complained after a short while, setting down her papers with an audible smack onto the green leather next to her. "The script is boring me to death, and I haven't even reached act three yet."

Maxwell reached up to adjust his glasses, a frown creasing his brow. "I think it's just fine, CC—"

"It's not and you know it," CC cut in, "we need something fresh, and you have no room to talk when it was _you _who passed on _Cats_."

"I beg your pardon!" was Maxwell's predictable, indignant reply, and Niles snorted under his breath as he quickly made his way out of the office and back to the kitchen — all of their arguments were the same, anyway, and he knew that CC would be in to visit him shortly. There was, after all, a rhythm to these things.

Sure enough, not ten minutes later his rival burst through the swinging door. Niles could practically see the smoke coming from her ears as she demanded more tea, and he poured silently, knowing when to leave well enough alone. They stood across from the island as they did every day, Niles returning to sponging down the counter, CC drumming her fingers agitatedly on the hard surface.

"I can't stand it when he does that," CC muttered, glaring daggers into her drink. When Niles didn't reply, she shifted her eyes to him, taunting, "what's the matter, servant, cat got your tongue?"

"I didn't realize you wanted a conversation with me," Niles replied airily, setting down the sponge and leaning on the freshly cleaned countertop. He rested his weight on his forearms, affecting a relaxed pose now that he knew the witch wasn't interested in what he was doing.

"I don't want anything with you," CC sniffed, "but you of all people in this household should understand what he's like, and you are preferable to talk to over Nanny Fine."

Niles gave a slight roll of his eyes. "Ya mean I can't tawk like this?" He asked exaggeratedly, not bothering to hide his irritation at her ever-present sense of disdain towards his friend. CC just gave him a withering glance.

"No. Anyway, you know what I mean. He's always talking down to us, lording his opinions over everything we do — I mean with you, it's expected — …he never listens to us… again, for you, expected…"

"This is really helping me to empathize with you," Niles commented, turning to remove the cookies from the oven.

"I know."

"Always a pleasure talking to you, Miss Babcock."

CC snorted. "You're about as helpful as… nothing."

"More than we can say about you," Niles fired back, and he was pleased to see the corners of her mouth twitch marginally downwards. "Now why don't you go back into the office, like a good girl, and do your work."

"I'll be doing more than we can say about you," CC mimicked, and Niles laughed.

"Don't argue with him," he advised suddenly, and CC fell quiet. It was a rare moment when Niles decided to drop the game they played. He had paused in removing the cookies from the tray to a cooling rack, and his back was to her. "You know that Mr. Sheffield is stubborn. I know that _you _are stubborn." He shot her a pointed look over his shoulder. "Go out and find backers who will tell Mr. Sheffield that they want to invest in a better production than the one he is looking to fund. Since they have the money that you both need, he will be more inclined to listen."

CC nodded, absorbing this. "I suppose you would know, being that you've worked with Maxwell for years… Methuselah."

"What I get for trying to be nice," Niles sighed dramatically. "Now go, before someone walks in and catches me being civil to the she-devil." He waved a hand at her in dismissal.

As she left the room she threw over her shoulder "At least you haven't got a bird brain, Niles, it's the only thing working in your favor."

She didn't see the way his shoulders slumped as the door swung shut behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

**GOD I'm the worst. I'm not a writer, so please forgive me if I am sort of slow at the update thing. Much thanks to all who reviewed - and to Negschainsaw, EspoirDio, AllTheSnakes and maccamcbeardy for being lovely dears and talking to me/helping me out with this. Hopefully the plot can really get moving in the next few chapters here.**

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**ch. 3**

Penthouse, 1995

CC stormed her way through her front door, slamming it shut behind her. Dropping her bag on the table she turned to the wet bar, tripping over Chester who'd come to say hello to her and grinding out a curse. She didn't allow herself to relax at all until she'd sat herself down on the couch with a glass of Jack Daniels.

The past two years working with Maxwell Sheffield had been hell. Ever since the nosey cosmetics salesgirl from Queens had showed up on the doorstep and Niles had mistaken her for a nanny, the environment in which CC and Maxwell produced their plays had been turned upside down, spun about, and shaken from side to side — repeatedly.

It wasn't even the fact that Nanny Fine kept getting into trouble — that CC could live with — but the fact that she would bother Maxwell and herself while they were trying to work, barging into the office as if she owned the place. And not only did CC have contentions with that, but also the fact that Nanny Fine seemed to expect that Maxwell would fall for her.

CC swirled the alcohol around in her glass and gave a sigh of frustration. She'd been chasing after Maxwell herself ever since he'd had to start hiring nannies to watch the children; mostly so they'd keep their hands off him and so that they (she) could work, but more recently to irritate Nanny Fine. CC supposed a crush on the handsome producer had blossomed somewhere along the way, though, and now it irritated her when Fran chased after him — she'd started to redouble her efforts so that herself and Maxwell could get some real work done during the day.

And if it annoyed Niles as well, then CC could just count her blessings.

Speaking of the butler — her nemesis, really — he was the reason for her agitation this afternoon, _he _was the reason she was here at 2pm, home early from work, already on her way to drinking herself into a stupor tonight as _he_ so often accused her of doing. She gave a bitter shake of her head and sat back, a fresh round of anger rushing through her.

Today, he had hovered over her to the point of madness, asking whether or not she 'needed assistance learning to read,' treating her generally as if she had no idea what she was doing in the office of a Broadway producer. He'd also 'accidentally' nudged her wrist as he finished refilling her coffee cup, so that the hot liquid ended up all over her designer blouse — to which he'd mocked in a syrupy tone — "Miss Babcock, dear, would you like a TV tray?"

She'd nearly lost it.

She'd stood up, announced to Maxwell that she would not tolerate Niles' infantile behavior any more today, turned on her heel, and left, shouldering Niles hard as she passed. The sounds of the silver serving tray hitting the floor and Maxwell's sharp exclamation for Niles to "do be more careful, old man!" echoed behind her as she grabbed her coat out of the front closet and left the mansion for home.

It wasn't that he pranked her which bothered her; more so it was that he did it when he knew she was focusing on something important. If she were in a participatory mood, CC found that her bantering and pranking with Niles had become quite routine. And there were times when they were borderline nice to each other as well — in their own way, they were friends… sometimes.

Though she acted otherwise nearly every single day, CC didn't detest the fact that Niles was a butler. She was rather impressed, in fact, that he could manage to keep the entire house under control the way he did.

She'd never tell him, of course. Putting him at an advantage by doing such just wasn't a wise move. She was clever, but so was he — and he was the nosiest, most resourceful pain in the ass on the planet, probably. He had an unfair advantage to begin with (though she could, of course, threaten him with his pension plan… it had worked before. But then arose the issue of not having any new material to work with).

What irritated her the most about Niles was that he was an Oxford-educated man that scrubbed toilets, cleaned baseboards, and did laundry. He'd spent four years at the university and yet he submitted completely to his role of servitude in the Sheffield mansion.

"Surely he knows that he could do better than that, Chester?" CC asked the little dog sitting next to her, who merely blinked up at her and pawed at her leg.

CC detested the thought of someone who'd given up on their aspirations to do the lackey work for someone else rather than fight through to achieve a place in the world, like she had. And sure, her and Niles had been each others' dates to different events and sure, they'd shared kisses — once when she thought she'd get Maxwell and once when they'd both drunk a little too much — but it didn't have to mean anything … right?

Shaking her head and deciding that thinking about Niles wasn't helping to relax her any — admitting to herself that she liked the butler more than she ever let on never did, after all — CC set her empty glass on the coffee table and stood up. Taking Chester on a walk through Central Park would clear her mind.

As she put her coat on for the third time that day and pocket her keys, she felt something in her pocket. Reaching further inside she pulled out a folded piece of paper, and, opening it, she read —

Instructions on how to wash the stains out of her blouse.

"Damn him," she gritted out, for Niles had just won another point — and he wasn't even present.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey all, sorry for the delay. I'm a full time student at university studying abroad right now, so pardon that. I've been traveling around the UK the past few days, so that's why this one was a bit late. I'm also not very happy with this chapter and I'm starting to confuse myself with things going on. What can I say, i'm not a writer. Drawing is much much easier for me to do. **

**It always shocked me how smart Gracie was in the show. She was like a child prodigy sometimes. Anyway, enjoy. I'm off to try and draw suggestions by Kate811 involving Niles, CC, and slot machines.**

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ch 4

The next day, when CC arrived at the mansion she had to let herself in, to her aggravation. She hung her coat in the closet and thought to herself that it was for the better that the good for nothing butler wasn't around right now, for she'd have certainly had a word or two to say to him after his behavior the day prior. Making her way into the office she greeted Maxwell as if nothing had happened the day before — coming in on her day off was her silent way of apologizing for her outburst — and immediately set to work, trying to block Niles from her thoughts for she didn't care where he was or what he was doing, she reminded herself.

* * *

The man in question had been entertaining Grace for the past hour and a half. The young therapy-driven girl had quickly over the past two years become his confidante and the bond they had shared even since she was an infant had grown tenfold in size since her discovery of his 'true self.' And she'd turned out to be the only person aside from his parents that, upon that discovery, hadn't looked at him in disgust or immediately trailed off with an insult.

Sunday was Niles' day off as well and so he'd found himself with nothing to do. This weekend Fran had taken off to paint the town with Val, and without his best friend around he was bored out of his mind. He'd set his mind to baking for the morning and as he rolled dough for some simple snickerdoodle cookies he allowed himself to get lost in his thoughts. And as she had every time she tried to get his attention, Grace startled him out of thinking with a giggle as she tugged on his slacks.

He smiled down at his young charge. "Is there anything I can do for you, Miss Grace?"

"Yes," she replied matter-of-factly. "I think we should talk about your reluctance to face who you are."

"I'm fine with who I am," Niles said, glancing nervously at the swinging door. "It just isn't something one brings up."

Grace eyed him skeptically. "You've simply been conditioned to think that way, Niles. Meet me in your room in ten." So Niles wrapped his dough in cling film, stuck it at the back of the fridge where Fran wouldn't find it, removed his apron and trudged up the back stairs to his room. Grace had already set up his room in the fashion of a therapist's office by the time he opened the door and slipped inside — which for her eight year old self meant that she'd pulled up a chair beside his bed, opened her journal, and sat looking at Niles expectantly when he entered.

She motioned for him to lay back on his bed and he did so, deciding to humor this part of the routine as he knew that in a few moments they'd be in a no nonsense mode. He couldn't help but to feel slightly embarrassed when Gracie went into her therapist mode like this, for he was forty years older than her and yet she confused him with the technical terms she used and the professionalism with which she approached every one of their 'sessions.'

"So, Niles," Grace began, "I think that your acceptance of such a low station in life is a parallel for your acceptance of the fact that you're one of few in our world who's been born with wings."

"How do you mean that, Miss Grace?" Niles scrunched his nose slightly, peering up at the little girl.

"You're always so unhappy about doing the work that you do, yet you never really do anything to change the fact that you're a butler. You sort of just go along with it, but you let everyone know just how miserable you are while you're doing it," Gracie stated, and Niles stared at her. "I think it's similar to how you face your station in life as an angel. Hence…." she paused and giggled, "hence you try to compensate for it with self-help tapes and picking on Miss Babcock so that you feel like you're higher-up in the social standing than you actually are."

Niles just continued to stare at the young Sheffield child, completely blown away. How she'd managed to guess — correctly — his motivation behind some of what he did he'd never know, but she'd done it nonetheless. _Ought to call Letterman about this girl, _he mused to himself.

"If that's what you think," he said quietly, "I suppose it does make sense."

"Tell me why you've hidden who you are from Daddy and from the rest of the family," Grace suggested.

"I don't know if I should…"

"Do it," she urged him, picking up on his hesitance immediately. "You keep it all bottled up inside and it isn't good for you, Niles. You should tell Daddy at least."

"Your father already knows, Miss Grace," Niles admitted, and she tilted her head to the side. _Go on. _"My family has had the recessive gene for years … going way back. But it's recessive, so only very few people in the family are ever born with wings. It works this way for nearly every family of people like me.

"We have to be careful to hide our wings from the public because as I've told you before we're only ever seen as freaks of nature — lower than the lowest member of society. I can't tell you why, because I don't know.

"My family has worked for yours for generations, Miss Grace. Your father and I grew up the closest of friends, and we attended school together. There have been numerous times when your father has defended me from his other friends because I was his butler. He's had my back on that for as long as I can remember. But never once can I recall him sticking up for me because of my 'deformation,' as the people of his societal circle like to call it.

"I learned that as close as you can get to someone, they will be uncomfortable with the realization of who you are. Your father still doesn't know how to go about the subject comfortably even with me — and I'm the one who lives with it! I think that if I had come to the door of this house and then he'd found out what I was, I'd have been fired. I can't get a job nor can I be treated normally like this unless I hide it, Miss Grace. I hardly think that your brother and your sister would be as accepting of me as you are. Much less Miss Babcock! It would be a bloodbath. I cannot risk losing the people I love because of this."

Gracie had sat back and listened quietly to Niles as he stared at the ceiling and recounted his story to her.

"There isn't even a point for me to have these wings," he suddenly cried, "I can't even fly! What's the damn point?"

"It's okay, Niles," Grace told him. "They add a lot of character, even if you can't tell many people. They're beautiful, and maybe you can tell the family sometime soon. I think it would be good. It would be good for you. And I think you'd be surprised at the family's reaction. Maybe they'd be okay with it." _Except for Miss Babcock, _she added silently, but she knew she didn't have to mention that one.

Niles, meanwhile, was looking at her warily. "I'll think about it," he said slowly, "but no promises, Miss Grace. And you keep your mouth shut too, please."

"It isn't my place to tell," she responded easily, and Niles sat up, patting the little girl on the head.

"Dinner will be ready in two hours," he said, standing and Grace followed suit. "I'll have Miss Fine call you when it's done. She will be home by then, so go and find something to do."

"Alright, Niles. Remember what I told you, really think about it!" And she left his room, leaving Niles to slowly descend the stairs to the kitchen to start dinner.

* * *

As Niles served dinner that night, he indeed thought over what Gracie had told him. He made sure not to pour gravy on Miss Babcock this evening so that everything remained calm, though he participated in their banter as usual.

If he told the family, what would she think? She already had him low on her list of people to acknowledge as useful because of his status as a butler. If she found out the truth about him she'd completely shut him out. And he couldn't have that, because without their banter he'd be bored as hell every single day, no matter how much he talked to Miss Fine about her most recent escapades. He'd already had a hard enough time of it today, he thought as he discretely studied CC under his lashes, as the witch hadn't so much as come into the kitchen once to stir up trouble. He knew she was still angry at him for his antics the day before, though, because her shoulders were tense in that way they always were after he one-upped her. Tearing his eyes away to refill drink glasses, Niles turned his thoughts away from the blonde.

Niles was sure that if he told the rest of the family, Fran would be the most accepting. She'd always had a non-biased view towards everyone she'd ever met, and he was sure that the same would extend to him. He wasn't sure, however how she would feel about the fact that he'd lied to her — a lie of omission, sure, but a lie nonetheless.

Brighton and Maggie would need time to adjust, and Brighton would definitely mock him about it at first. He wasn't sure if they'd be uncomfortable with it, or if they would refuse to look at him the same way, or if they would take after their younger sister.

He couldn't be sure of anything. The only thing he knew for certain was how the two members of the family that were aware of his 'condition' had already reacted. As he took his usual spot at Maxwell's shoulder and watched the family eat, he realized that he was even more uncertain now about telling them all than he had been before.


End file.
